


Shower Catastrophe

by thinkwritexpress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Clumsiness, F/M, Fluff, implied smut if you squint at the fine print at the very end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwritexpress/pseuds/thinkwritexpress
Summary: You might be a badass hunter, but in the shower you're definitely more than a bit clumsy, giving Dean the chance to play nurse.





	Shower Catastrophe

You were done. Abso-friggin’-lutely done. Dean Winchester was getting on your last nerve. You two had been stuck in close proximity for way too long during a damn hunt, and your ride back to the bunker was eight hours long. 

At about the halfway mark, Dean pulls over at a motel in a small town and you scramble out, practically jumping for joy when you get to stretch your aching limbs. As you walk towards the motel’s little lobby with your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, your stomach growls loudly and you sigh.

“Dean, go get us food, I’m starving. I’ll get us a room and text you what number.” You command, not bothering to look to see if he’ll do as you say, and you smirk when you hear the Impala door slam shut and drive out of the parking lot. 

Walking into the lobby, you haggle the price of a room to a ridiculously low amount- a flash of cleavage and a flirty smile works wonders on the tired, lonely young man at the counter. After giving him a fake name and number, you take the keys and make your way to your room, sending Dean a text with the number. He doesn’t respond and you don’t care, walking straight to the bathroom. You strip down and step into the shower, sighing in relief when you turn on the water and it comes pouring out at a nice, warm temperature, and not too crappy of a pressure level either.

By the time you’re done shaving and washing your hair, Dean’s banging on the door to the room, demanding to be let in. You sigh and move to shut off the water, but your foot catches on the curtain and down you go, slipping and banging every part you have somewhere on the tub. Letting out a screech (as well as a few choice words), you lay on the floor of the tub, afraid to move and inflict further pain on yourself. The water is hitting your stomach, and you’re biting your lip to hold back tears, frustrated and embarrassed. 

You let out another yell as the door from outside comes crashing down, Dean kicking it in. He runs into the bathroom where you are and stops, staring at you for a moment. You blush and suddenly burst into tears, embarrassed and in pain and unable to hold it in. Without a second thought, Dean strides forward and leans down to pick you up, not caring that he’s getting soaked by the shower in the process, his full attention on you and the noises and faces you’re making. 

You’re gasping and wincing and whimpering, but you desperately try to hold it all in, wanting out of the shower. “D-Dean, shut off -shit- Shut off the water. You’re soaked.” And indeed he is. Soaked to the bone, he continues, and finally succeeds in picking you up carefully and walking you out to the bed. 

“Sweetheart, you gotta be more careful. Let’s get you dried off and then we can bandage you up.” He says softly, walking back into the bathroom to grab a towel and shut off the water. You want to protest, but your body is screaming at you to give in and let yourself be taken care of, so you do just that. Dean comes back out and gently dries you off, acting professional, like a nurse, his focus entirely on you. When he gets to your lower half, you hold your breath, waiting to see what Dean would say, probably something snarky or flirtatious, but instead he keeps quiet, being as gentle as he had been. 

Once you’re dry, he grabs the first aid kid and some ice, and the two of you set about communicating where you were hurt. “Luckily for you, it looks like it’ll just be bruises (Y/N). Maybe some sore ribs, but you’ll survive.” He reports, chuckling and shaking his head as he stands up and heads towards the bathroom to change. 

You huff and nod, pouting a little. “Thanks Dean.” You call out, groaning quietly as you sit up. Dean walks out in a shirt and his boxers and shoots you a look, looking over you. He hands you your duffel and you blush, quickly pulling out an old shirt and throwing it on, trying not to groan again.

He smirks and winks when he notices your shirt. Or rather, his shirt on your body. “Nice shirt there, sweetheart.” He says coolly, a teasing note in his voice, and you glance down, biting your lip and looking at him shyly. 

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your shirt. I honestly forgot I had it. It’s just so soft, and you hardly wore it anymore, I didn’t think you’d notice or mind.” You mumble, keeping your eyes on the bedspread. Dean walks over to you and sits on the bed beside you, his hand reaching up and tucking a strand of your messy hair behind your ear. 

“Trust me (Y/N). I don’t mind at all. You look great in my clothes. You should wear them more often.” He says with a smile, licking his lips. You try not to stare, instead looking at his eyes, but it doesn’t do you any good, because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re a goner. He leans in slowly and you do the same, your eyes fluttering shut. His lips press gently against yours and you sigh happily, shifting forward to deepen the kiss, but a stab of pain in your ribs makes you pull back with a hiss.

Dean lets out a sheepish chuckle and ducks his head. “We can do more of that when you’re all healed up, ‘kay sweetheart? We both need our sleep now. And I have food if you want it.” He offers, but you shake your head, your stomach feeling queasy. 

“No, no food. Sleep sounds good. G’night Dean. Thank you for taking care of me.” You say quietly, closing your eyes and leaning your head back. Dean looks at you a moment longer, watching as you fall asleep quickly, then he lays down beside you, resting a hand gently on your hip as he falls asleep too.

~~~~~~

One night weeks later and back at the bunker, you walk into your room from the kitchen, and on your bed is a stack of t-shirts with a small note. “(Y/N)- Take your pick, wear one tonight and meet me in my room. See you then. -Dean” And with a grin that rivals the Cheshire cat, you pull one on and take off down the hallway.


End file.
